


It's never going to be like it could have been, and now its just this room

by this-is-cd (hic_sunt_dracones)



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, Kanjani8 (Band)
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 13:01:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hic_sunt_dracones/pseuds/this-is-cd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written in 2008.<br/>Title is from the song Ache by Jawbreaker</p><p> </p><p>He's standing there when you open the door, shoulders hunched, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his hoodie, and staring at the corner of the door where the paint-flaked wood meets the cement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's never going to be like it could have been, and now its just this room

He's standing there when you open the door, shoulders hunched, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his hoodie, and staring at the corner of the door where the paint-flaked wood meets the cement. There's a spindly crack that winds its way from your apartment to the middle of the walkway and you look at it instead of him. You've been dreading this moment since the decision was made, and the anticipation was like a knot in your stomach, taut as rope. Thickness, like way too much alcohol, suddenly permeates your mouth, and you bite back bile. You haven't had a drink in two weeks, two days, and thirteen hours. You can't be bothered to count minutes. 

You start to sigh when it appears he won't break the terrible silence that is so alien between you two, but it's cut off when brushes past you and walks inside. 

He doesn't take off his jacket, doesn't move to sit down, not on the chair or in his favorite spot on the soft yellow sofa your mom got for you when you moved in. Not even at the table. You stand there looking at him, clenching your jaw, willing yourself to hold back all the emotion threatening to pour out of you any moment when you hear him speak. 

"Aren't you going to close the fucking door?" he says, and his eyes have never left the ground the entire time. _Like he can't stand to look at me_ , you think savagely, and you curse him silently because hiding his emotions comes so easy to him.

"Why are you here?" you say, in the way of an answer, putting as much edge in your voice as you can, slowly sliding the door closed. You hesitate almost too long before clicking it shut. There's no backing out of this now, and that makes you angry. _Angrier_. 

"Like you don't know." The words fall heavily in the room. 

You cross your arms, eyes never leaving him. 

"You shouldn't be here. I thought that was made clear. You are to cease talking about me or referring to me in any way. You are not to call me. Not to see me. Not to contact me _in any way_." Your voice gets more bitter with each word. "You were doing so well! You haven't seen me in two weeks; why start now?" Your voice oozes sarcasm. You almost can't believe the way you sound because you've never spoken to him in this tone of voice. It must surprise him just as much because he finally pulls his eyes away from dented leg of the chair and looks up at you. 

For a moment, his careful facade is gone and you can see the hurt in his eyes as he holds your gaze, but when you blink, the mask is back. 

"I wanted to see you, to see how you were. I could care less about the 'rules' they gave me...gave _us_. But I can see that was a mistake." His voice is harsh, cutting you deep. He turns quickly and moves toward the bathroom. "I'm just going to get my things and leave you alone, then. You're right. I shouldn't have come." His voice carries clearly, as though he were still facing you, and you curl your hand into a fist and hit your thigh. 

It doesn't hurt enough and your eyes sting with the tears you couldn't shed for the past two weeks, two days and thirteen hours. The tears you still can't allow yourself. 

"I packed all of your things," you say as he walks from the bathroom empty-handed, answering the question before he can ask. You can't stop that edge in your voice, can't stop saying things so sharply. Can't stop saying the wrong thing. Can't stop him from leaving because _he has to leave_. You can't talk about this normally because this isn't normal. Can't fix this because you aren't _allowed_ to fix this. Not now. And all you can do is try to make _this_ fitting. 

There wasn't anything wrong before but you feel compelled to make it wrong because you don't think you can deal with it, either of you, any other way. Not now. 

It's better this way.

"Oh how fucking _thoughtful_ of you, _Uchi_." He spits out the name like something rancid, distasteful. Like its not your name. 

And when he's reached the duffle bag, full of carefully folded clothes and personal items, he looks at you again. You're both glaring, breathing hard, barely controlled anger bubbling right beneath the surface of the faces you've put on. 

A few moments later, his shoulders slump slightly, unable to hold that tension any longer, and you _feel it_. He shakes his head and walks toward you, toward the door. The doorknob twists in his hand too quickly after he brushes back past you, but he pauses and turns as he stands there right past the threshhold. 

"You couldn't even wait for me," he says, unable to look you in the eye. You can see him biting the inside of his mouth. "You only had to call. I would have come. I would have come immediately." There's another pause when he takes a breath, and you wonder vaguely how much longer you can hold yours. 

"What were you thinking?" The words come out so softly, pained, just like his eyes as he looks at you, and something shatters. 

"I wasn't," you say. You don't hesitate this time, and the door clicks shut.


End file.
